


I Think We're Alone Now

by Literally_the_sorriest_cop



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Harry, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24779995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literally_the_sorriest_cop/pseuds/Literally_the_sorriest_cop
Summary: Jean has to handle a crisis situation with Harry.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	I Think We're Alone Now

It's Monday morning. Jean is getting ready to start his 12 hour shift. It's 5am and he needs to be at the precinct by 7am.

His alarm awoke him from an unnerving dream about Harry. Harry has been doing really well since his return from Martinaise. He's started taking medication, he's sober, and he seems to be generally taking care of himself. Jean has been worrying about him less and less.

And then he had this dream.

In the dream, he was waking up for work, and then he noticed the light blinking on his answering machine. He pressed play and he hears Harry's voice. "Jean," He said, "You're probably asleep. I really gave this a fair shot. It's not going to work out, though. I know it won't. Thanks for being the brother I never deserved." Harry's voice was void of emotion. Jean was used to drunk, rambling, sobbing messages from Harry. This wasn't a cry for help. It was a real goodbye. 

Next the dream jumps to Jean entering Harry's apartment. He need not search for his partner. He lies dead in the center of the room, back to the front door. A pool of blood expands from his head. 

The harsh beeping of the alarm brought him no comfort. It's not his first nightmare about Harry. But normally his nightmares are a direct result of something in waking life. Harry behaving in a worrisome way, an argument, something. This dream seemingly not having a cause, that is what nagged at Jean. _Would he even call me if he needed me?_ Jean wonders.

He checks the time. _Harry works the same shift so he should be awake now. I could stop by and offer him a ride rather than him walking, Jean thinks. I could tell him I want to pick up bagels and coffee for everyone and I need his help. Then it wouldn't be obvious that I'm checking on him._

He hardly notices the dim, humid morning as he steps out at 5:30am. He parks his motor carriage outside of Harry's apartment complex at 5:45am. His fist raps sharply on the door. Nothing. He knocks harder. 

"Harry! Come on, man, it's Jean." He projects through the door. Nothing.

_It's too early for him to be at work. His apartment is small, so even if he was asleep he'd still hear me._

It makes Jean very nervous.

Jean tries the handle and it's unlocked. His stomach twists. Another thing not quite right. He pushes the door and walks into the living room. It's immediately apparent that Harry has been on a bender all weekend. The tell-tale bottles are scattered around the apartment, some on the floor and others left on edges of every counter and table. One table is an exception, the coffee table, which has been snapped in half. Various objects have evidently been chucked at the wall or crushed on the floor.

"Oh shit, Harry." Jean says, his hand to his forehead. He takes it all in. 

He doesn't see Harry. A quick glance around is enough to confirm that he is not in the tiny efficiency kitchen or the living space containing his bed and TV (which miraculously remains intact.) The bathroom door is shut. That's the only place he could be.

Jean steps over bottles to approach the bathroom door. 

"HARRY!" Jean calls through the door, banging with his fist. He's starting to panic. "You better be in here, motherfucker!"

He tries the handle and it's locked. 

"Harry! Open this goddamn door or I will kick it the FUCK in!" Jean booms. 

Stirring can be heard on the other side. 

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Harry shouts back, his voice is broken with emotion.

"One more time, Harry." Jean has found a shred of restraint, now that Harry's continued existence has been confirmed. "Open it. Or I will open it for you." 

Jean growls impatiently. When Harry doesn't comply, he takes a step back and kicks the door open so hard the knob dents the wall. 

Harry is as far from the door as he can be, back against the wall, dressed only in his briefs and an undershirt. His firearm is pressed to his temple.

"GET OUT!" Harry shrieks, "NOW, OR I DIE!"   
"Harry." Jean says very calmly, "This is a bad idea. You're not thinking clearly, you've been drinking-"  
"FUCK YOU!" Harry cuts him off, "You don't even *like* me! I don't know why the fuck you're even here!" His face is flushed and his voice shakes. He looks like he's been crying for a year.

Jean takes a deep breath. He's never seen Harry like this, not with a gun to his head. 

"Listen. I can help you. I'll stay right here with you all day and we'll figure this out."  
"You won't help me figure out SHIT!" Harry cries, "You don't care about me. No one does. And they shouldn't. I fucking suck!"

Jean takes a very cautious step forward.

"Seriously man. Look at what you're doing. This is crazy." Jean says, "Come sit down with me and tell me what's going on."

Harry appears to waver. His grip on the gun loosens and his eyes stare at the tile floor. 

Then he tenses up again.

"NO! I've fucked up too...too far...I..." He stumbles over his words, "I can't fix this, I can't take it back. It's FUCKED."  
"What is it you can't fix? What do you mean?"   
"I CAN'T. FIX. THIS." Harry points to himself. "BEING SHIT, JEAN! Everyone knows I'm *shit*! There's nothing to fucking talk about! I need to DIE!"   
"Harry...no. You're not." Jean says with regret, "You're not shit. I know I've told you that. It's not true." 

Harry gasps with sobs, tears rolling down his face as he squeezes his eyes shut. The hand holding the gun shakes. Jean's breath catches in his throat. Harry seems focused on the gun, like he's goading himself into pulling the trigger.

"Come on, kid. Hand me the gun." Jean takes a step and he's almost close enough to touch Harry. He extends his hand. 

To Jean's surprise, Harry shoves him away, *hard,* causing both of them to stumble back. 

"No...no no no no." Harry cries harder. "This is it. This is it. This...."  
"It's okay, Harry. Just hand it to me." Jean repeats quietly. He steps closer again, his flat hand trembling. His heart hammers in his chest.

Harry pulls the gun away from his temple, appearing ashamed that he couldn't go through with it. The gun drops into Jean's palm. Harry sputters into his hands as he rubs his face.

Jean steps back and quickly unloads the gun. He slips the bullets into his pants pocket and the gun into his jacket pocket. Then he roughly yanks Harry into a hug and holds him tightly. Harry bawls into his shoulder, smelling of booze and cigarettes and despair. 

Jean wants to lay into him. He wants to berate him and tell him that he's a selfish shithead. He wants to shake him. 

"You scared me half to death, asshole. Don't ever fucking do that again." Jean holds Harry's head to his shoulder. 

After a few minutes, he places his hands on Harry's face and looks into his eyes.

"Alright, it's okay. You're *okay.* I'm going to help you." Jean says, "Take a few deep breaths and do what I tell you to do."  
Harry nods slowly.   
"Start by washing your face." Jean instructs. "Or better yet, bathe if you can handle that. Then we can talk. For as long as you want. Figure this shit out." Jean looks over him with concern.  
"...Okay." Harry's red eyes gaze at the tub forlornly. He looks absolutely drained.  
"And then you're drinking water and going the hell to sleep." Jean concludes with a grumble, walking away. 

Harry shuffles to the bathtub and turns the water on. Steam rises as the water gushes from the spigot. 

"Leave the door open. I don't need you to pass out and drown." Jean says sharply. 

Harry stares at the water filling the tub. 

Jean sighs and picks up Harry's telephone. He informs the precinct that neither of them would be making it to work today. He keeps it vague and no one asks any questions.

While Harry is busy washing himself, Jean takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, one side heavy with the empty firearm in the pocket. He's still wired from adrenaline and doesn't know what do with himself. He clears the floor of bottles and disposes of them. He notices there are no *full* bottles to be found. Which would explain why Harry is not as drunk as he expected. 

Next he draws the curtains to make it dimmer in the apartment. Occasionally he peers into the bathroom to make sure Harry is alright. 

Harry's bed is positioned between the tiny kitchen and the bathroom door. Jean sits at the foot of his bed, removing his shoes. 

"Feeling better, shitkid?" Asks Jean, as Harry wanders towards the bed in fresh pajamas.  
"A bit." Harry mumbles.  
"I called the precinct. They know we're both taking off today."   
Harry's hand goes to his head. "Wait...precinct...? What day is it? What *time* is it?"  
"It's Monday morning, Harry." Jean says somewhat impatiently.  
"Oh."   
"Worried about work now? You just had a gun to your head, and now you care what day it is?" Jean asks harshly.  
"I'm just surprised." Harry mumbles.   
"There's water. Drink it." Jean points at his night stand. A glass waits there.

The water disappears in a matter of seconds. The glass is set down with a soft clunk.

"You look like shit. Lay down." Jean kicks off his other shoe. "You can't be left alone until you're in your right mind, so I'm staying right here with you. You're lucky I didn't make you go to the fucking hospital."

Harry is silent. The bed creaks softly as he sprawls on top of the sheets. He keeps to the left, allowing room for Jean to join him. 

Jean has removed his button-down shirt, exposing the white undershirt beneath it. He plops down with his back against the pillows and headboard. 

They sit there together for a few moments, Harry staring at the ceiling and Jean sitting beside him, one foot on the floor. Jean lights a cigarette and hands it to Harry. Harry takes it wordlessly and puffs on it. Jean then lights his own. 

"So what happened?" Jean's gruff voice breaks the silence.   
"I got sad. And then I drank a lot. Because it hurt."  
"Sad about what?"  
Harry takes a long pull on the cigarette and exhales into the air.   
"I kept thinking about every stupid thing I could remember doing, or heard that I did. I feel so guilty all the time. I wish I'd stop remembering things. It just gets worse."

Jean hums in acknowledgement. 

"And the pain of it...it's unbearable. It just sits there in my chest. I want to cry but I can't. It lingers like that for hours and hours. So I had a drink. Just so it might stop." Harry looks dejected.  
"Yeah, been there." Jean says with sincerity. "How did it turn into...all that?" Jean motions vaguely towards the bathroom door.  
"I don't even remember, to be honest. I just couldn't stand being alive anymore."  
Jean glances down at him empathetically, cigarette in hand. "Aren't you on meds?"  
"Yeah."   
"Why didn't you call me?"   
"I don't know. Why *would* I?" Harry would sound more bitter if he wasn't so tired.  
Jean's expression darkens. "Yeah. Okay. That's fair."

Silence follows as they finish their smokes.

"Look..." Jean starts hesitantly, crushing the filter in an ashtray. "I know you don't really remember who I am to you. It hasn't all come back to you yet. But, we've been through a lot."

Harry listens attentively, still laying flat on the bed. His gaze is so innocent and receptive that it tugs at Jean's heart. Despite Harry's amnesia, he's still the genuine person he's always been. 

"You're important to me, Harry. That's the easiest way to put it." Jean smiles sadly. "And no matter how fucking *unhinged* you make me with your bullshit, that won't change. You don't remember, but I always covered for you, I always stuck up for you, no matter what you did. When you left the task force...told us to fuck off, all of that...the worst thing about that...was you finally proved everyone else right. I felt stupid for all the times I defended you. I felt stupid for trying to be such a good friend to someone who walked out on me without a second thought. And now you're back. And I'm ready to start it all over again." Jean huffs with sullen amusement. 

Harry turns himself onto his side, still gazing up at Jean quietly. He looks child-like.

"And now I can see why you'd be...*reluctant* to talk to me. You can't remember all of those times I was there for you. And also, you make me livid and then I have to *scream* at you. But that's because I've seen what you're capable of and watching you self-destruct is maddening." Jean looks away. His eyes are sad.   
"I'm sorry I can't remember. I'm sorry I drank until I forgot you." Harry says quietly.  
"It's okay. I know I wasn't the thing you were trying to forget." Jean responds gently.

He hears a sniffle and then sees Harry is wiping under his tired eyes. He's crying again.   
  
_God, do I have to be such a prick? It's no wonder he thinks he's fucking useless. Stop bragging about being such a great friend when you're the one reminding him how fucked up he is. Stop talking and just hold him._

Physical affection doesn't come easily to Jean. He's generally touch averse and will avoid it when possible. In fact, he finds it embarrassing and definitely won't do it in the presence of other people.

But right now they're alone, and when Harry gets like this that's what he needs. 

Jean swings his remaining foot onto the bed and settles in beside Harry. Opening his arms, he motions for Harry to come closer. His expression has softened.

Harry looks uneasy and somewhat confused. 

"I'm not going to bite you. Come here." Jean grins. 

He assumes Harry doesn't remember, but he's done this countless times. Dousing the flames of Harry's meltdowns by holding him and letting him talk or cry until he tires himself. 

Harry is tense as Jean's arms envelope him. Tears silently spill from his eyes as he gradually brings his arm to rest around Jean's waist. His hair is still damp and Jean can feel it, (and the tears,) through his undershirt . He's unbothered. Harry takes a long, shuddering breath and a whine escapes his throat as his crying worsens. Jean shushes him and rubs his back.

"It's okay, Harry. Everything is fine. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." Jean's voice is surprisingly soft. He smooths his hair with caring strokes. Harry doesn't respond verbally, but his muscles slowly relax under the soothing pressure of Jean's embrace. Harry grips Jean tighter and their bodies press together. Jean's arms secure him completely. 

"Listen to me. The next time you're feeling down like this, I want you to call me. I don't care where I am, or what I'm supposed to be doing, or what time it is. Please. Do that instead of drinking until you're fucking insane." Jean says wearily. 

Harry nods slowly against his chest.

Jean holds the back of Harry's neck with one hand, kneading it gently. He listens as Harry's breathing slows.

And then, after about five minutes of silence, Harry is asleep in his arms. _You crazy motherfucker,_ Jean thinks. A smile twitches on his lips. He glances at the crack of sunlight peeking through the curtain. Though he wishes it were under different circumstances, he's grateful to have more time to rest. He always did sleep a little better with Harry.   



End file.
